Of Mobsters and Family
by OlyveTheOctoPus
Summary: When her father mysteriously disappears, a man approaches Spinelli and tells her she must become the next boss of the Funicello Famiglia. Having no other family to return to and no choice, she's suddenly thrown into a world of brutality, drug smuggling, and a Family out to get blood: her blood. Features a darker, older Spinelli.
1. Prologue

**Story: Of Mobsters and Family  
Rating: High T (possible M?)  
Warning: This story is rated for it's excessive and incessant use of foul words and language, copious amounts of violence, and overall badassery ;P  
Don't expect this to be very lighthearted, there'll be some pretty dark themes in this story. If you can't take that kind of story, perhaps it would be best if you didn't read it.  
**

**Full Summary: When her father mysteriously disappears and her mother moves to an obscure convent to be a nun, a man approaches Spinelli and tells her that she is the only successor of the Funicello Famiglia and must become the boss. Having no other family to return to, she becomes the boss all while trying to hide it from Gretchen, her friend from college, and avoid T.J., a cute guy who seems to know more about her than feels comfortable. She's thrown into a world of brutality, illegal drug smuggling, and a Family out to get blood: her blood. Watch out world. Here comes Ashley Funicello Spinelli, 32nd head of the Funicello Famiglia.**

**Features Future, darker side of Spinelli, a sarcastic TJ, and suspicious Gretchen as well as numerous and countless OCs.  
**

**Anyway, please enjoy and let me know what you think! :) Time for my Recess Project #2!**

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Recess and am merely using the characters for my own entertainment.**

* * *

Robert Spinelli leaned back into the plush cushions of his leather chair, turning another page of his paper. He was trying to stay interested in the current affairs of the world, but to be honest, all he wanted to do was read the cartoons near the back page. The office was dark, illuminated only by one lamp, and his right hand shuffled impatiently in front of his desk. Though no cigar smoke filled the air, the office was pungent and stank of the thick smoke. It was an old smell, one that would never extinguish, even with age. But even with this nostalgic, and even comforting smell, the conversation taking place in said office was anything but.

"Robert, what do we do!" Georgio gripped his hair, "They'll come after us, Robert! And then we'll all die! They've already called a hit on you!"

He cleared his throat, yet remained calm, chewing thoughtfully on his unlit cigar, "They called a hit, eh?" He chuckled.

"There's nothing funny about that, Robert!" Georgio began to pace frantically, "We need to get out of here. Maybe if we escape now, we can put you in hiding until all of this blows over."

Robert put down the paper he was reading, and stared up at Georgio impassively, his dark eyes menacing and revealing just why many thought him cold-blooded, "They disrespected our turf agreements, George. They killed sixteen of our associates, twelve of my men, and set fire to one of our cargos, and you're telling me you want to run from these sons of bitches? Or did you forget?"

Georgio cringed at his tone of voice. Of course he remembered. One of the ones who had been killed was Georgio's own cousin, but he still didn't believe they should just sit there and wait for the Antonello Famiglia's next attack. Those bastards weren't known for fighting honourably or fairly, and he knew, in time, they would come after their boss. He knew Robert was no pushover. He was a ruthless business man and a fierce, dangerous opponent to have, but sometimes he behaved so flamboyantly and blithely that he was not taken seriously as a leader. And thus he was targeted by others.

"What do you suggest we do, Robert? We aren't as big a family, so if we fought, we won't win by numbers alone."

"We don't fight. We wait."

Georgio growled and slammed his fist on the table, "We wait? We _wait_? For what?! For them to come here out of nowhere and massacre us all? Robert, I will follow you to the ends of the earth and back, but you know that option is basically suicide! Surely you have a better one?"

"Georgio, my boy, you need to-"

All of a sudden, an explosion rocked the headquarters to its core, causing paintings to fly off the walls and a few lamps to crash onto the ground. The ceiling creaked and small sand-like pieces of debris crumbled to the ground in a powdery white color, cloaking the two with a small layer of white dust. Shouts were heard from their end of the house, while a particularly blood curdling scream brought chills down Georgio's spine. Robert had fallen out of his chair and was scrambling on the floor, trying to regain his balance while Georgio had been gripping the wall, trying to keep himself from falling down.

"Robert! Are you alright?!" he shouted, between coughs.

"I'm fine, Georgio. Go see what's happening."

Georgio nodded and left the office. Robert stood up, and quickly rushed over to his personal cabinet. Carefully opening it, he went to the back of the third drawer and slid the hidden panel down. Grabbing a chain of small keys hidden inside, he stuffed them inside his inner pocket. He left the picture and unopened letter that were hidden inside. He replaced the panel back into its original position, and closed the cabinet. As he stepped back, another explosion sounded, this time much closer to where he stood, and he found himself stumbling backwards, straight into the leather chair, as a portion of his wall crumbled.

Georgio burst through the door, his eyes crazed and gray ash caked on his face, "Robert! It's the Antonello! There were bombs! It's an att-"

Several gunshots sounded at that moment, and Robert watched as Georgio's body was hit repeatedly, blood splattering on the furniture in the room, a little bit on his face. When the shots finally stopped sounding, his eyes blank and gray, Georgio fell forward to the ground, unmoving. Standing in the doorway with the smoking barrel of the gun facing Robert was a hitman with a long scar marring his face from his left eyebrow to his upper lip. His smirk only grew when he had seen what prize he had discovered.

"Well, well. If it isn't Don Spinelli himself." The man smiled evilly, his gun trained on Robert, who's eyes had become dark and looming, "I wonder... If that's how easy it was to take down your second in command, how weak are you?"

~.~.~

Emilio's eyes opened slowly as he tried to familiarize himself with his surroundings. His ears were ringing horribly and his vision was foggy. He shook his head rapidly and blinked hard, trying to clear the spots. He could hear shouting and someone was crying out in pain. Blinking again, his memories returned. He had been speaking with one of the soldiers about his lovely garden installment in the backyard and how calming it was in their life of crime. They were on their way to visit said garden when the wall next to them had exploded into large chunks of cement. Emilio had been thrown onto the ground, barely conscious. He had tried to come to grips with what had happened, when he heard the poor soldier scream in agony. His leg had been clean ripped off, and even from his semi-unconsciousness, Emilio could tell he was bleeding out fast. And then another flash and explosion had ripped the ground from under Emilio and hurled him into the air.

He blinked again, looking at the rubble surrounding him as the ringing finally began to disappear. He realized he was stuck under some of the debris and would have to find a way out before he died of suffocation. He wiggled his body to test how loose he was. He didn't seem to be horribly injured, save for his ears and eyes. His head hurt though, and he wondered if he had suffered a concussion. There was a puddle of blood near his head, but it was hard to tell whether it was his or not. He tried to move his right arm, and found that a sharp pain traveled from his elbow to his shoulder. It was most likely broken. He couldn't feel his fingers at all. He heard groaning and moaning nearby him, and he tried to move his head to the person to assess how bad the situation was.

Was the boss alright? He suddenly snapped out of his daze, quite alert.

"Is the boss alright? Where is he!" Emilio bellowed and tried to pull himself out from under the rubble, but his back wasn't as good as it used to be, and his arms didn't have the same strength as in his youth, nevermind his right arm, which he figured would not be any help at all. "Where is Georgio? Can anybody hear me?!"

Arnaldo, relatively unscathed, save for a bruise forming on his head, quickly ran over to Emilio and kicked the broken pieces of wood and cement off of his back. He helped him to stand, apologizing when Emilio grimaced when he gripped his arm, "Those bastards killed Georgio! He was shot down!"

Emilio's face twisted in horror, "No... then that means the boss..." He cringed and bent down, holding his arm as the pain increased ten fold. Looking down at his right arm, he noticed the elbow bone was completely sunken in, a bump protruding from where his elbow should have formed a crease. The lower half of his arm was hanging at an odd angle.

"No one can find the Don... We can only hope they took him and didn't kill him. Or he got away." Emilio knew the chances of that were pretty slim, but hopefully, somewhere, their boss was fine. "Emilio, you need medical aid immediately! Look at your damn arm! It's near 'bout to fall off! And your head is bleeding all over the place!"

"Emilio!" Another soldier ran up to Emilio, his face red and blotchy. He looked stricken, "So many of our men are dead! What the fuck do we do?"

Emilio frowned, "We need to survey the damage. You two, gather the rest and tell them to go check the entire area and see if anyone else survived. Find the medical team and get them working on the injured immediately. Anyone who died, bury them. We'll give them a proper funeral later."

"What about the family? We don't have a Don anymore. How are we supposed to live? I can't go back to the streets!"

Emilio smiled an empty smile, no warmth in it whatsoever, "The Funicello Famiglia isn't dead, Alfonso. Please calm yourself."

"What do you mean? I thought The Don only had one son, and he was in prison already? Surely you don't mean him. How can he run the family if he isn't even here?!"

"He has a son in prison, yes. But he also has another child."

"Another child?" Arnaldo frowned in disbelief, "We never heard about this! Are you making this shit up?"

"Ashley Funicello Spinelli. His estranged daughter. He wanted to protect her from crime, so he did everything in his power to keep her from being exposed to his life. Even if it meant sending her to a foster home."

"You're going to bring a little girl here to be our boss? No one will agree with that!" Alfonso retorted, his lips curled in disgust.

Emilio grabbed his collar and yanked Alfonso straight to him, a wry smile on his lips, but unforgiving glare in his eyes, "You better _learn_ to agree with it then, soldier, or you will find yourself out in the streets again. Now listen carefully. I want you to go find Don Spinelli's wife, Florence, and I want you to take her to the Santa Maria convent and talk to Elena. She'll know what to do with her. Do this discreetly and whatever you do, do _not_ tell her what has happened or what we plan to do with her daughter."

He nodded before heading off to take care of what Emilio had asked of him.

Arnaldo straightened Emilio when he began to sway, "You might have a concussion Emilio. Let's get you to a doc! Your arm looks fuckin' awful." It did. The color underneath the skin became a blotchy mix of red and some type of greenish/purple.

"I need to get something first, but call a medic over."

Emilio marched to his boss's office, stepping past some men who were scrambling to fix the damage. Despite the fact that the bombs had hit much of this section of the mansion, Robert's office remained largely intact, save for one section of the wall. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach when he spotted blood on some of the furniture, but no bodies. Looking through the cabinet, Emilio located the hidden safe his boss kept inside. It was designed in such a way that the opening to the safe appeared to be the wall, when in reality, it was a panel that could be slid down. Carefully, he opened it and found the contents to be a letter addressed to Robert's daughter as well as a picture of the girl when she was young. Behind the picture was inscribed the address of the foster family with which Ashley had been left. Years ago, Robert had told Emilio that should anything happen to him, he wanted him to deliver to Ashley the letter. That was at least eighteen years ago. Emilio wasn't quite sure what she would look like now, but he knew he had to find her. And fast, before word reached the Funicello's enemies that they had no don, and thus, were vulnerable.

"Arnaldo!"

The young man raced back to him with one of the Family doctors in tow. "He can fix your arm and take care of your concussion."

Emilio shook his head, "He'll have to take care of it on the way. Get a car. We need to take care of some business."

"What business do you possibly need to take care of at this time, Emilio?"

"Finding the 32nd head of the Funicello Famiglia. And bringing her here."

* * *

**What did you think? I hope this chapter was to your liking! ****:)**

**Quick Glossary:  
**

**-soldier: as in foot-soldier, they are the common men in the family  
-don: the head honcho, the boss of the family  
-right hand: second in command, the "right hand" and the back of the boss.  
-famiglia: Italian for family  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 2: Chapter 1**

**A/N: Spinelli doesn't know she's a Spinelli yet. So therefore, her last name isn't Spinelli. It's Preston (for now). So she doesn't go by Spinelli. I know this might be annoying, but it'll change soon enough, so please, be patient with meh. :)**

**Please enjoy and let me know what you think! :)  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Recess and am merely using the characters for my own entertainment.**

* * *

"Hey, you sure you don't want my umbrella, girlie? It's raining pretty hard out there."

Ashley rolled her eyes, "I'll be fine, but thanks for your concern."

He shrugged, "Suit yourself. Anyway, this is as far to the curb as I can get. Good luck."

She thanked the cabby after paying him, and hopped out of the backseat, rushing towards her apartment building as quickly as she could. He hadn't been kidding. It wasn't raining out there. It was pouring.

Feeling like an elephant, she stomped as quickly as she could to the building's front doors, attempting to avoid the wayward puddles, but unfortunately, landing in every one. By the time she reached the doors, she had soaked her pantyhose to the bone, her pleather flats were already wrinkling something fierce, and she was weighed down by the amount of water her clothes had soaked up. Groaning, she yanked the door open. The landlady, Virginia Morgan, was standing in the atrium, a displeased look on her face.

"Ashley Preston, you're late on your rent again."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes in annoyance. That bitch would never shut up about the rent, would she? "Actually, Mrs. Morgan, I paid it in half this past week, and I'll have the rest available to you by the end of this week."

"This is the tenth time you've had to give me the rent in parts. I've given you too many chances, Ashley."

"I know. I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry. The job's not paying enough, and I've got a lot of other expenses to take care of." That was the understatement of the century. Her minimum wage job at the bowling alley and a restaurant barely provided pay for food and college expenses and tuition, much less rent for a run down apartment complex either. But until she graduated, she wouldn't be able to move away from the stinking job. "I just need a bit more time."

Mrs. Morgan picked her nails, looking down in disinterest, "Well, I gave you a job to babysit my babies with fine pay, but you couldn't handle it."

She stiffened. So that's what this was about? Earlier that month, Virginia had gone on a cruise to the Bahamas with her pig of a husband and forced Ashley to take care of her disgusting, hairless, mewling rats of mongrels. They were absolutely terrible dogs, chewing up all her furniture, pooping and peeing on the carpet, scratching the door and walls. They had caused so much damage that she had actually ended up spending the cost of rent to repair all the damage. But fed up, one day, she tied their tails together with the leash and tied them both to lobby door outside. She was only going to leave them there for a few hours, but unfortunately, Mrs. Morgan had come back from vacation early. To say she was displeased was an understatement. And now, she wasn't giving Ashley anymore favors.

"Mrs. Morgan, I'm sorry for that incident, I truly am, but it was either that, or allow those little shi- dogs, to ruin the carpeting and the walls."

Wrong thing to say. Mrs. Morgan's face scrunched up in distaste, and she glared at Spinelli, vexation eminent on her face. Her lip curled in disgust, and her nostrils flared.

"That has nothing to do with this. I need your rent by tomorrow."

Ashley closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to slow down her heart rate. She counted to ten and clenched her fists. Anything to keep her from attacking the stupid bitch.

_Stop A. This isn't high school anymore. Beating someone up will get you arrested, not suspended or expelled. You'll be arrested._

Her temper under control, she glared down at the landlady. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to pay."

"I need that rent by tomorrow, or you will be evicted, do you understand?"

"Oh, yeah. I understand perfectly clear." She stormed past the short, plump hag and was stomping her way to the elevator when Mrs. Morgan's arm shot out and she gripped Ashley's jacket sleeve.

"Uh uh uh. Not so fast. I can't have your sloppy wetness destroy the carpeting in the elevator. You'll need to take the stairs." Her smirk told Ashley she was very much enjoying this.

She stared at Mrs. Morgan in disbelief, "My apartment is on the eighth floor."

"Then you should probably get going if you want to make it by today, huh?"

Without a word, she shoved past Mrs. Morgan, ignoring her indignant cry and ripped open the door to the stairwell and entered it, steam coming out of her ears. Looking down at her sopping outfit, she ripped off her shoes and her ruined pantyhose. She sprinted up the stairs two-by-two, trying not to think about her fatigue and only trying to reach her floor as quickly as possible. Mrs. Morgan was a downright bitch to make her have to go this way.

By the time she reached level eight, she was panting and clawing at the walls, trying to regain her breath.

_Why me?_

She had been seriously down on her luck lately. It was as if some higher force was out to get her. She felt like a human punching bag. Just last week, her toilet had broken and leaked while she had been at her classes and flooded her bathroom as well as the hallway in front of it, ruining the carpet. She thought getting it cleaned would have just been fine, but apparently the water had seeped into the lowest level of the carpet which was actually riddled with mold. She had had to replace the entire hallway carpet, and that took quite a chunk out of her savings. And then there was that time when the police had barged into her apartment looking to arrest some dude while she had been in the shower. She had had to explain that they were in the wrong apartment while wearing just a skimpy towel because they had threatened to barge in there too if she didn't come out. The appreciative and lewd looks would have been flattering, had the stupid men not broken the hinges of her apartment door. She had to pay to get that fixed too. And don't even get her started on the air conditioning. Air conditioning on the eighth floor was somewhat nonexistent. Not only was it broken every other day, but at times, it left this foul stench in the halls and apartments. Her floormates had recently petitioned Mrs. Morgan to upgrade their AC, but the invoice she had sent them all of the price to install a new one was too much for Spinelli and the others to contribute, even combined. The idea had been dropped, and summers remained insufferable.

Dragging her feet down the hall, she waved tiredly to people passing by her, ignoring their quizzical or amused glances at her barefoot, disheveled, raggedy appearance. She'd let them come to their own conclusions. She just didn't have the energy to inform them of her plight.

Reaching her door, she scrambled in her bag for her key, which often got lost in the clutter. She finally pulled it out and was set to unlock the door, when she heard a strange sound coming from inside. She froze and stilled, holding her hand still on the doorway. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened carefully, intently, trying to tune out the noise in the hallway from the rickety AC. She could hear... the storm.

The window.

_Shit!_

Unlocking the door, she ripped it open, and her worst fears were confirmed. Her window was not only open, the curtains billowing out of control as the rain continued to cascade in roves, but her living room was completely trashed. Her couch's seats and pillows had been ripped up and were everywhere. Papers and other folders scattered on the ground and completely soaked. Her coffee table's legs were gone. Her lamp had been knocked over and was broken with the shiny pieces of glass from the bulb scattered onto the carpet. Her fan had been smashed. Her DVD player and all her CD's and DVD's had been taken. Her TV had a gaping hole in the middle of the screen, the remote control sticking out halfway. Her laptop was gone, and her telephone's cord had been cut. Everything within five feet of the window was drenched and definitely ruined with water.

For a while, she just stood there, staring at the trashed room, as if maybe everything would just go back to the way it was if she stared long enough. Trembling, she took a step into the apartment. This couldn't have happened just from her leaving her window open, which she was sure she hadn't. This was an inside job. She had been robbed. And whoever this person was, had done quite a thorough, hell of a job.

Dazed, she walked past her kitchen into her bedroom, half expecting there to be nothing left. She was somewhat right. All the drawers in her dresser had been overturned, and her desk's drawers were bare. The mirror on her dresser was smashed and the paintings on her wall had been taken as well as a wicker basket that she kept her dirty clothes in. Someone had taken great pains to snatch all of her documents. And her unmentionables.

Frowning, she picked up what remained of her underwear (two measly granny panty pairs that she used whenever she was on her period and a sport's bra), "Fucking pervert. Why take the panties?"

Walking back to her living room, she tried to keep her quivering lip still. There was nothing in the living room that she could salvage. All the stuff was either gone, or it had perished in the rain. She couldn't even tell what had been taken and what had been damaged, but one thing was for sure: her life was pretty much gone. Maybe this was a sign. A sign to pack it all up and just move away. She shouldn't have to endure hell just to live her life.

Determined, she went back to her bedroom and ripped open her sole suitcase. Going into the bathroom, she was pleased to find the area mostly untouched. She grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste, her grooming materials and razor, and her towel and loofahs. She went back into her room and slipped on her combat boots. Opening her closet, she was pleased to see that the robber had left alone the meager amount of clothes and shoes she had. They hadn't even taken the one expensive dress she owned, which was a good thing, because that dress had cost her an arm and a leg. And so had the jewelry she stashed inside it on the hanger. Grabbing the clothes and her hidden jewelry, she jammed them into the suitcase and forced it to close.

Finished with that, she bent down and pulled up a corner of the carpet in the closet, peeling it all the way up and out. Under the first layer she had hidden all of her most important documents. Her bank statements and information, bills, college letters, etc. Stuffing those in her satchel, she then pulled the next layer completely up, revealing the rotting hardwood floor underneath. Under the second layer, she kept her whole life: her social security, checkbooks, federal letters, passport, a book of her passwords, and one small photograph she had forgotten she kept there.

It was an old photo, turning a bit yellow from age and lack of proper storage. She recognized the smiling little girl in the middle as herself. The dimples in her cheeks told her as such, but the two adults standing on either side of her, she could not for the life of her remember. The woman was young and beautiful with flowing onyx locks, flushed cheeks, and vibrant cocoa brown eyes and a dashing smile. Her face resembled the little girl's, and they shared the same physical features and dimples. The man, whose smile was barely visible, looked severe and rough, though he had this air of benevolence. Ashley was almost jealous of the little girl in the picture, despite the fact that it was herself. She was smiling so carefreely and innocently, no pain or hindrances in those bright chocolate eyes. Ashley couldn't remember the last time she had smiled that happily. Or ever.

Kim Preston, her most recent foster mother, had told her that the two adults were her real father and mother, and that they had passed away in a tragic accident when she was five. Kim had also told her that she had a brother thirteen years older, but when Ashley had asked her if she knew the whereabouts of said brother, Kim said she didn't know. Maybe Ashley's memory was just bad, but she couldn't for the life of her remember any of them. Not a single memory of her supposed family. Not even a soft woman's voice singing her to sleep. Not even a smell that would remind her of home. Sometimes, she truly believed Kim had made up the story of her having a loving, warm family to make her feel better about having to live in a foster home. She had probably been abandoned.

Shaking her head and sighing in annoyance, she placed the picture in her bag and stood up, pulling the loose gray skirt down as it had ridden up. Closing the suitcase shut and hauling it behind her, she left the apartment without looking back once. She flipped open her phone and dialed a number.

"Hey Gretchen? Are you busy? I need a ride."

~.~.~

"You can make the living room your home until you find a new place to stay, Ash." Gretchen gave her a sympathetic look, "Do you want some hot cocoa? You looked freezing when I picked you up."

Ashley leaned back on the couch, snuggling into the pillows and her oversized sweatshirt. "Nah, I'm fine. And thanks. I don't know what I would do without you."

"But geez... You've had some pretty bad luck this past year." Gretchen stared intently at her, her glasses flashing, "Do you think you've maybe got some bad juju surrounding you? Cuz I know this guy who does exorcisms-"

Ashley sent her an incredulous look, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. "I'm pretty sure I don't need an exorcism."

Gretchen shrugged, "So what are you going to do about the apartment? It got trashed. Don't you have to pay for water damage?"

"Well, technically, I'm to be evicted tomorrow by noon if I don't pay the rent, so legally, I won't have to pay for the damage after noon, provided that old bitch doesn't go up before noon. But knowing her lazy ass, she won't."

"But what about your covers and your couch and everything?"

"I got most of the stuff from garbage dumps and thrift stores, remember? It doesn't matter to me. Besides, everything of value was stolen. And everything I would have liked to take with me was broken."

Gretchen sat on the couch and curled her legs under her, "That actually sucks, you know that? I would never be able to let go of stuff like that. I told you, we should have just bought an apartment together and lived as roommates. But you wanted to be all independent and said no."

"Gretchen, I go to a community college in the middle of downtown. You're a research intern at a hospital and a med student in the posh side of town. Do you know how hard it would be to find a reasonably priced apartment conveniently located between us both?"

Gretchen frowned, "That may be so, but it was still a better option. If we both had to wake up early to get to our classes on time, that's fine by me."

"I also wouldn't have been able to pay rent on time. And you'd have to pick up my slack."

"How long have we been friends, Ashley? You know I wouldn't care."

"Right, _you _wouldn't care, but that's too heavy of something I can ask from you."

Gretchen shook her head and chuckled, "You really have problems letting people take care of you."

"When you grow up in foster care, you learn fast how to take care of yourself." she mumbled, a hard expression on her face.

Gretchen rolled her eyes, "Yes, because of hooligans and the right assholes who foster you, but even your BFFL?"

Ashley wrinkled her nose in distaste, "One: Don't ever say 'BFFL' again. Two: It's not personal. You know that."

"Fine, Ash. But at least use my car for your apartment hunt and when you buy all your stuff. A cab will get expensive, plus it'll be easier to transport."

"That's-"

"No, Ashley, it's not too much to ask."

"How-"

"I can easily walk to campus or take the bus. It's only ten minutes away."

"I-"

"_Yes_. You _can_."

Ashley looked annoyed, "_Gretchen_-"

Gretchen stopped Ashley from responding by slapping her hand on her mouth, a no-nonsense look on her face, "I won't take no for an answer, Preston. You can fight me as much as you want about this, but you know I'm right."

Ashley pried the fingers off her face and glared at Gretchen, "Okay, geez. I'll use your damn car. But I'll be paying for the gas, got that?"

Gretchen patted her shoulder, "Right, right. Whatever you say. Hey, I've got to finish a lab report for a prof. You want me to hang with you some more, or can I leave?"

Ashley waved her off, "It's no problem. Go take care of your shit."

"Right then. G'night Ash." Gretchen stood up from her seat and left the living room, walking down the hall to her bedroom.

Wiped out from the day's events, Ashley laid down and buried herself under the covers on the couch. The quiet laughter from the TV was lulling her to sleep, and she really didn't feel like thinking about the day anymore, or all she would have to do now to get her life back on track. Thankfully, she had no classes the next day, so she could just sleep in, but she knew sooner or later she would have to find a new apartment. Gretchen would be fine with her living there as long as she needed without contributing to rent, but Ashley couldn't stand the idea of freeloading, even off of a friend. And the location of this apartment was at least fourty-five minutes from her school and a total inconvenience. Not to mention, she had to buy a new laptop, find out if her TV and everything else had been insured and basically start from scratch.

Groaning into the pillow in annoyance, she cursed the world for being unfair. Why was it her that had to restart her life? Why did she have to have such bad luck? Why did she always feel like such a fucking punching bag?

_Why couldn't I have had my parents?_

Snuggling further into the covers, she curled into a ball, sniffling quietly. She honestly wished her life could be a lot less complicated than it currently was.

Little did she know, it was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated, soon enough.

* * *

**Hahaha you won't believe how many times I found I had accidentally written Spinelli. It's so WEIRD not writing Spinelli! Unrevised chapter. Will take care of it soon.  
**

**Next chapter: the story begins...**

**Hope you enjoyed :)**


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